"So much for the element of surprise!" I grunted, spying the signal beacon. I drew my father's bronze sword and signalled to the others. I held the weapon aloft, modelling the action for the younger, more inexperienced Raiders. "Forth!" I roared, glancing at Hali, my second in command, who repeated my directive and urged her people forward.

We charged forward, screaming our family war cries, alive with the spirit of our ancestors coursing through us. With vengeance we bore down from our hillside, the blood of our magnificent forefathers pumping through our veins and filling our minds with thoughts of righteous violence.

Not unwarranted violence, though, I told myself, not undeserved. These cursed people had sold our tribe into slavery, tortured our men, raped our women and beaten our children.

I stole a glance at Hali. Dressed as I was, in grass skirt, painted tribal art on her legs, face and forearms, wearing her ancestral headdress, she was every part the rightful avenger. Her dark skin shone with sweat and many oils, glistening in the light from the torch she bore. Her expression was savage; lips pulled back in a snarl, wide open, throwing flecks of spittle behind her. Her eyes closed to ruthless slits and her cheeks protruding unnaturally, the painted symbols melting in her heat.

She almost scared me.

And if she almost scared me, she would petrify the villagers. They deserved it, though. Their children would be killed, their men maimed, their women tortured and their houses ransacked and burnt to the ground. But they deserved it. These people were dirty, they were despicable, they were filth, they were vile, they were.Gone.